


King and Lionheart

by SerotoninShift



Series: The Most Exciting Thing I'd Ever Known [4]
Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 15:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17562923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninShift/pseuds/SerotoninShift
Summary: Lord Vanquisher gives his most favored knight a little more than said knight bargained for.





	King and Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> And as the world comes to an end  
> I'll be here to hold your hand  
> ‘Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart.  
> ~Of Monsters and Men

Lord Vanquisher, dragonslayer, leader of armies, champion of his people, sits on his throne and fidgets. It’s late, and dark, and the throne room is empty and echoing. He taps his fingers, slumps over to one side, and sighs, a little dramatically.

Then there’s the faint sound of hurried steps in the hallway outside. Lord Vanquisher perks up as the footsteps approach. The door to the throne room slams open.

“I’m here! Sorry, dude, I got a flat…” Lord Vanquisher waves a hand imperiously. Sir Smiling Dragon remembers himself, closes the door behind him, strides forward a few steps, and bows.

“My lord,” the knight says, “I have returned.”

“Come forward, noblest of my court,” says the king.

The knight, a dark-skinned young man in the prime of health, still slightly breathless from his hurried entrance, approaches the throne and drops to one knee before the dais.

“I, uh, beg your majesty’s pardon, my, uh, _horse_ was… in need of… maintenance.”

Lord Vanquisher frowns a little, but he gestures magnanimously.

“It is of no consequence, my Dragon. I take it your horse is well?”

“Oh yeah, great,” says the knight. He looks around, pulls at his collar a little. “So… kinda hot in here, your majesty? Mind if I, uh, take off some of this armor?” He’s smiling slyly at his king in an overly familiar manner. Lord Vanquisher glares at him.

 _“First_ I need your report,” says the king. “Many a moon has this court lacked for your presence. Tell me, what did you see in your travels?”

“Well. There were a lot of rivers to cross. And stuff. You know.”

“Rivers,” says the king flatly.

Smiling Dragon lets out a muffled snort that might be a giggle.

“Smiling _Dragon,”_ Lord Vanquisher says petulantly, “you’re not taking this seriously.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the knight says, only somewhat contritely. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

Lord Vanquisher throws a sharp, calculating look at his knight. He abruptly stands to his full height, and in two long strides he’s towering over the kneeling man. The knight’s signature teasing smile falls from his face. The king reaches out and grabs Smiling Dragon by the hair, pulling his head back roughly.

“Now that you are finally here, I find,” his majesty says, “that I like you on your knees.”

“Uh,” Smiling Dragon says.

“This troubles me,” continues the king thoughtfully. “Do you know why, my Dragon?”

“N-n-n-o?” Smiling Dragon says hesitantly.

“Because,” says the king, “in my kingdom, no one may take what is not freely given. So I ask you, my Dragon. Would you willingly _serve_ your king this night?”

Smiling Dragon swallows, clears his throat. Lord Vanquisher is still holding his head back at a sharp angle, staring at him intently. The knight meets his king’s ice-blue eyes.

“My lord,” he says, voice a little rough, “you know I am yours to command in all things.”

“Good. I will give you a command of your own,” says the king. “A word of power. All you have to say is ‘dragonslayer’ and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. Do you understand?”

“Yeah?” the knight says, brow furrowed. “What are you gonna…” The king jerks his hair, shaking his knight’s head harshly.

“No more talking,” Lord Vanquisher snaps. “I’ve had enough of your insolent mouth. You may be my most favored knight, but that does not give you license to take liberties with your king.”

“Dang,” says Smiling Dragon breathlessly, then snaps his mouth shut, realizing his mistake. Lord Vanquisher’s grip gets a little tighter in his hair.

“What did I just say?” he growls. Smiling Dragon presses his lips together, silent.

“Good,” the king says, satisfied. “Now. Up on the dais.” He pulls the other man to his feet. Smiling Dragon, at a bit of a loss, switches places with his king. Lord Vanquisher steps back, crosses his arms.

“Strip,” he says. Smiling Dragon frowns, uncertain.

“You wanted to take off your armor,” says the king. “So let’s see you do it.”

Smiling Dragon rallies a little. He pulls his shirt off over his head, throws it onto the dais. He toes off his boots, setting them aside carefully. Then he reaches for his fly, looks questioningly at his king.

“Go on,” the king says. Smiling Dragon undoes his fly, slowly shimmies his pants down. He’s not wearing any underwear. The king raises an eyebrow.

“Smiling Dragon,” he says, “did you come into the presence of your king half-dressed? Were you, perchance, _expecting_ something?” Smiling Dragon shrugs, grinning.

“I see,” says the king mildly. “You impudent slut. Very certain of yourself, aren’t you.” Smiling Dragon looks a little shocked, flushing. Lord Vanquisher looks him up and down, taking his time. The knight fidgets, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Very nice, I will admit,” the king says finally. “Now. Have a seat.”

Smiling Dragon glances at the throne, raises his eyebrows. The king nods. Smiling Dragon approaches the throne, settles down into it hesitantly. Lord Vanquisher steps up onto the dais and looms over his knight again. He pulls a length of fabric out of the pocket of his cloak and without ceremony pulls Smiling Dragon’s right arm up over his head and starts tying his wrist to the finial atop the high back of the throne.

“Uh,” Smiling Dragon says again.

“Problem?” says the king sharply. Smiling Dragon shakes his head, pressing his lips back together. The king smiles to himself, finishes tying his knight’s hand to the back of the throne, pulls out another length of fabric, and repeats the process with the man’s other arm. The king steps back and looks him over. “Very nice,” he repeats, satisfied.

Smiling Dragon tugs at his wrists. There’s not much give in the fabric.

“Hm,” he says, a little concerned. The king leans over him, grins right in his face.

“The legendary Smiling Dragon, at my mercy,” he says. “What shall I do with you, hm?” He runs his fingernails lightly down Smiling Dragon’s bare chest. Smiling Dragon makes a little noise and pointedly arches his hips up.

“Impatient,” the king says, and smacks him hard on the inside of the thigh, knocking his legs apart.

“AaaAH!” The cry ripped from his own mouth seems to startle the knight.

The king looks up sharply at the sound, appraising. He sees a flush rising in Smiling Dragon’s cheeks, sees him biting his lip, wide-eyed. He smacks Smiling Dragon’s other thigh, a sharp, stinging blow.

“Fffff! Ah!” Smiling Dragon throws his head back, squirms on the throne.

“You like that,” the king says. “You like it when it hurts a little.” Smiling Dragon’s eyes widen further and skitter away from his king’s level gaze. He looks a little embarrassed. Lord Vanquisher runs a gentle hand across the reddened skin he just slapped.

“My knight,” the king says seriously, “there’s no shame in that. You are safe here. You have only to say the word and I’ll stop. I can push you. But you are in control.”

Smiling Dragon gives a tiny nod, breathing out. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and lets his legs fall open.

“Mmm,” the king says appreciatively.

He runs his hands up the insides of Smiling Dragon’s thighs and then gives them both a resounding slap. Then he reaches up and abruptly pinches Smiling Dragon’s nipples.

“Hah!” Smiling Dragon gasps. “Ah!” His cock is half-hard and stiffening. The king takes it in one hand, strokes it roughly, still pinching and twisting one of Smiling Dragon’s nipples with the other hand. The king quickly sets up a fast, punishing rhythm, pumping his knight’s cock and alternating between his nipples with the other hand, tugging and twisting them roughly. Smiling Dragon makes breathy noises, pushing himself into his king’s hands.

“There,” the king says after awhile, voice rough. “That’s what I want to see. I want you desperate for me.”

Smiling Dragon takes a shaky breath and tenses, and Lord Vanquisher abruptly stops. He removes his hands from the other man’s body and rests them on the arms of the throne, leaning over his captive, intent.

“Aaah!” Smiling Dragon protests, arching his hips up ineffectually.

“Yeah,” the king says, “like that. You look so good.” He raises a hand, slips a thumb in between his knight’s parted lips. Smiling Dragon closes his mouth around the king’s thumb, sucks. The king makes a small noise, closes his eyes briefly. Then he starts touching his knight again, stroking his cock, a little more gently this time, leaving his thumb where it is.

It doesn’t take very long before Smiling Dragon is writhing into his hand, eyes squeezed shut, expression intent. “You look so good,” Lord Vanquisher says again. The knight’s back arches up, his muscles clenching.

The king stops again, pulls his thumb out of Smiling Dragon’s mouth with a wet pop. This time he backs off a full step. “Haaah!” Smiling Dragon jerks his hips into the empty air, wanting. “Nnnngh!” he protests. “Ffff… ah!” The knight bites his lip, staring at his king with desperation in his eyes. The king smiles lazily, steps forwards and runs a thumb over Smiling Dragon’s flushed cheekbone.

“I give you permission to speak,” Lord Vanquisher says magnanimously.

“F-f-f-heck, dude, I’m going crazy here,” Sir Smiling Dragon says immediately, “come on, touch me, I can’t, you gotta…” Lord Vanquisher places a firm hand over his knight’s mouth.

“Permission revoked,” he says coldly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I could keep you here all night if I wanted. Take you to the edge over and over again. I could make you scream for mercy. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If you don’t. _BEHAVE.”_

Smiling Dragon tugs at his bonds, looking a little frantic. “Ch… your majesty,” he says, “I…”

Lord Vanquisher interrupts him. “Didn’t I _just_ tell you your permission to speak was revoked? You just earned yourself another round,” he says sadistically. “And this time I’m going to use my mouth on you.”

Smiling Dragon makes a small, pained noise, shivering. The king doesn’t hesitate; he kneels between his knight’s spread legs, licks a stripe up his cock, takes the tip into his mouth. Smiling Dragon holds himself still, rigid. He’s shaking slightly, but he’s breathing evenly, with an effort. The king dips his head, slowly taking in more, running his hands up and down Smiling Dragon’s trembling thighs. He works his mouth over the other man’s cock, licking and sucking at its length, unhurried.

Smiling Dragon makes a faint whining sound. His hands tighten almost imperceptibly on the cloths holding him in place.

The king pulls away.

Smiling Dragon _screams,_ bites it off in frustration, writhing on the throne. The king looks him over appreciatively, eyes dark, giving him a minute. The knight subsides, little hitching breaths catching in his throat.

“I give you permission to speak again,” the king says smugly. “Let’s see if you use it wisely this time.”

Smiling Dragon, panting, takes a moment to absorb this. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Finally, he says carefully, “Your majesty. I… I beg you, have mercy. Please.”

“Please _what?”_

“ _Please_ let me come,” Smiling Dragon says, voice wrecked.

Lord Vanquisher can’t suppress a triumphant grin. “Very good,” he says. “Do you want my mouth or my hands?”

Smiling Dragon lets his head fall back against the back of the throne. “H-hands,” he says weakly, “and… kiss me? Please?”

 _“Very_ good,” Lord Vanquisher says approvingly, standing up. He leans forward, one hand on the arm of the throne, and wraps the other hand around his knight’s cock. The king kisses him deeply, starts to move his hand. Smiling Dragon’s hips rock frantically, he moans into the kiss. The king starts moving his hand faster, and Smiling Dragon has to break the kiss to take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Nnnn,” Smiling Dragon says, “please, your majesty, please…”

“My best, my bravest knight, _mine_ ,” Lord Vanquisher says, voice like a whip-crack. “Come for me.”

Smiling Dragon says, _“Oh,_ oh my god,” and then he’s coming, pulling hard on his bonds, every muscle seizing. His spine arches, his head hits the back of the throne with a thunk. He makes barely audible, breathy “Ah!” noises, chest heaving, as he trembles for a long time. When he finally collapses limply onto the throne, he seems completely undone, stunned and shaking.

The king takes a long moment to admire his knight, breathing hard and sheened with sweat, pearls of his own come beaded across his stomach. He looks utterly debauched, no longer the cocky, insolent creature he was when he first entered the throne room. He’s shivering with aftershocks, head thrown back, lips parted, eyes closed. After a moment, he lifts his head with some difficulty.

“Unf,” he says. “Wow. Ffff.” He shivers again.

The king is about to reach forward to touch that smooth brown skin, to pet and soothe his most beloved knight, when he hears the click of a latch.

“Hey, is somebody in here?” says a hesitant voice from the door. “I left my… oh my _god.”_

Lord Vanquisher whirls around with an outraged, startled scream.

“Thurman!” he shrieks. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“I left my sweater! Oh my god!”

“OUT!” Lord Vanquisher bellows. “OUT, OUT, OUT! And avert your eyes, you perv!”

“Sorry! Oh my god! Sorry!” Thurman the Magnificent dithers at the door, backing up, and trips over his own feet, toppling ungracefully unto his butt. He doesn’t even try to get up; he just scrambles backwards, crablike, out of the room. Behind Lord Vanquisher, Smiling Dragon dissolves into helpless laughter.

“GODDAMNIT!” Lord Vanquisher yelps, leaping off the dias and running across the room to slam the door behind his retreating comrade. “You didn’t _lock_ it?” he yells at Smiling Dragon.

“I didn’t know it even _had_ a lock!” the knight manages through his laughter.

“AAUUGH!” Lord Vanquisher leans his back against the door, thunks his head gently against the wood a few times.

“Okay, okay, this is _fine,”_ he says, walking back toward his knight, who’s still laughing. “Thurman just saw you in your altogether and you’re laughing about it, so _that’s_ fine. All tied up on my throne. Oh my _god.”_

“Did you see his _face?”_ Smiling Dragon whoops.

“Oh my god, everyone’s going to know about this by tomorrow morning,” Lord Vanquisher says despairingly. “That guy doesn’t know how to keep his big mouth shut.”

“That’s cool, he can tell everybody I bagged the king!” Smiling Dragon says, his cheeky grin back in full force. “I’ll be a legend!” Lord Vanquisher sits down on the dais, puts his head in his hands, and groans. Smiling Dragon’s laughter slowly dies down to breathless giggles in the background.

“Okay, wow,” Smiling Dragon finally says, irrepressibly cheerful. _“That_ ruined the mood.”

“I swear to god,” Chuck says through his hands. “These idiots are going to kill me. You know Thurman almost lost us a whole campaign because he didn’t want to get _muddy?_ Him and his damn _sweaters.”_

“Dude,” Mike says, “we just traumatized him forever, give him a break.” He tugs at his wrists a little. “Can you, like, untie me?” he asks shyly.

“Oh shit, dude, I’m sorry,” Chuck says, looking up, chagrined. He jumps to his feet, hurries to the throne, and unties one of Mike’s wrists, then the other. He takes Mike’s right wrist in both hands and starts rubbing it gently with his thumbs.

“Was that okay? I didn’t tie you up too tight, did I?”

“No, dude, that was great.”

“Your arms didn’t fall asleep or anything?” Chuck asks, switching to Mike’s other wrist. Mike grins at him.

“Dude, I’m _fine._ That was _great. You’re_ great. I wasn’t really expecting… wow. You’re _mean,”_ Mike says, still grinning.

“Shit,” Chuck mumbles, half to himself, “I had this whole thing planned out for afterwards, I was gonna, like… here.” He shrugs his cloak off his shoulders, wraps it gently around Mike. “It was romantic as shit, I had candles and everything, but now I feel weird. Stupid Thurman.” Chuck perches on the arm of the throne, rubs Mike’s back through the cloak.

“Dude, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Seriously. I’m _great._ Can I, uh, do anything for _you?”_ Mike asks, concerned. “You didn’t even get your shirt off.”

“I think… I’m good? For right now?” Chuck says, furrowing his brow. “I mean, it felt like that wasn’t really the point. For me. I got such a rush just from… watching you, it was… it was enough.” He shivers a little. Then he gets a sly look. “But maybe next time I’ll leave you on your knees, make you _really_ serve me.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “Geez,” he says, and swallows hard. “Dude.” Chuck laughs. He holds out one of the cloths he used to tie Mike up and says, “Come on, my Dragon, let’s get you cleaned up.” Mike lets Chuck swab away the evidence from his stomach, then wraps the cloak around himself happily.

“You let me wear the cloak _and_ sit in the throne,” Mike says. “Best night _ever.”_ Chuck rolls his eyes, gets up and picks Mike’s clothes up off the dais, hands them to him.

“What about that huge orgasm you had?” Chuck says. “Does that figure into your calculations at all?”

“Oh yeah,” Mike says, grinning, pulling on his pants, “that. Yeah, that figures pretty heavily.” He hands the cloak back to Chuck, tugs his shirt over his head.

“You good to drive?” Chuck asks when Mike is fully dressed. Mike bounces on the balls of his feet.

“What kind of question is that? I’m always good to drive.”

“I dunno, I thought your _horse_ was having issues,” Chuck says wryly.

“My noble steed is just fine,” Mike says, laughing. “Come on, let’s get out of here before, like, the Bardonians show up or something.”

“God forbid,” Chuck says, grabbing Mike’s hand.

“Hey,” Mike says as they walk together out of the room, “would Lord Vanquisher ever…” His next words are lost as they close the door behind them, leaving the throne room empty and silent again, the throne austere on its dais, keeping its secrets.

(Unlike _some_ people. Thurman tells _everyone._ )


End file.
